The Soprano's Love Story
by Pipsqueakery
Summary: An angsty reworking of the tragic love triangle, starting from Christine's very own tragic childhood. What if Raoul was not Christine's childhood friend, and Erik was not her angel of music? Alternate universe, of sorts. STATUS UPDATE 1219!
1. Are you my angel of music?

_**The Soprano's Love Story**_

**Disclaimer**: The Phantom of the Opera and related materials used in this work are property of Gaston Leroux, Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber, and so forth. I claim nothing in this story beyond my own tale-weaving style. :)

**A/N**: Well, first of all, hello! This is my first attempt at phanfiction, and also keep in mind that this is unbeta'd. If anyone is interested in becoming my beta, please do contact me. Considering that this is only the first chapter and I'm an insane perfectionist, my writing is always subject to being completely rewritten if it is not found suitable. Anything to please the fans. ;) Anyhow, this will eventually become an EC story. Notice how I did not include Raoul, and I did so for a specific reason. Gotta love those alternate universe situations! However, I struggled on the beginning of the story, considering there were endless possibilities; finally, I decided to describe Christine's childhood, considering it has been a neglectedpiece of the Phantom universe. For the basis of events and characters, I used a little bit of my favorite versions (Leroux, Kay, Webber, and even a little 1925 POTO). Feedback, reviews and criticism are all welcome!

* * *

**Movement 1** _Are you my angel of music?_

Christine Daaé was orphaned at the young age of seven. Her father, Gustave Daaé, passed on due simply to old age; Lis Daaé, her mother, died soon after her birth. Yes, little Christine was certainly not the only orphaned child in the nineteenth century—but _no_ orphanage could contain the child of Gustave and Lis Daaé!

In the remaining years of his life, Gustave took his precious child and together they traveled the western continent. Europe was their playground. Gustave would play his violin for hours, until his fingers began to throb unbearably; meanwhile, his beloved daughter would accompany his tune vocally. Her voice resonated—clear as a porcelain bell, mind you!—and pealed through the crisp, clear air of the countryside. Although they had little money and lacked flashy tricks, the musical family unit attracted several enraptured listeners. For most of her life, this was the only life that little Christine Daaé knew; in addition, she loved her carefree days at her father's side. As far as she was concerned, these happy days would last for all eternity.

However, while visiting France, a young Christine soon learned a lesson of death and loss. One fated evening, her father collapsed aside the dirt path they had been performing upon not even an hour ago.

"Father!"

Christine was horror-stricken as she slumped to the ground next to her father. She shook his shoulder, timidly at first; when he did not reply, she shook him harder. Harder still! Finally, he released an exasperated gasp.

"C—Christine, my… darling songbird…!" Gustave struggled for breath. He managed to prop himself up, using his right elbow.

"Oh Father! You are not well!"

"Come now… p—please, we must—get to Mamma Valerius… as soon as we can…!" Now, using his daughter, he was able to stand; however, his legs were still trembling and his face was drained of all color.

"Yes Father!" the little Christine replied, helping to steady her beloved father. Walking as slowly and as awkwardly as a child's toy, the pair set off for the small village adjacent to the path.

Mamma Valerius was a kindly old widow, roughly the same age as Gustave. She had passed the father-daughter recital and was touched by their bond; the vigor of their music also stirred her heart. After hearing their song and seeing their friendship, she insisted upon them staying in her home as guests. For several nights now, the Daaé family had taken lodgings in the Valerius household.

The frenzied duo arrived at the door to be greeted by Mamma herself.

"Gustave! Oh no, oh no, oh my goodness! Christine—Christine _darling_!—what happened!" the old woman could barely speak through her disbelief.

"Father is ill!" cried little Christine, her voice tremulous with emotion. "Please, Mamma Valerius, help him!"

The old widow rushed to Gustave, relieving the petite Christine of his weight. Slowly, she led him to the spare bedroom—where the Daaé family had been staying—and pulled back the sheets, lying the man on his back. She replaced the covers atop his body, and fetched a cold washcloth from the basin and spread it across his forehead. Then, she sent for Christine.

"Yes Mamma Valerius?"

"Send for Doctor Fontenelle, and please, make haste," the widow announced, her tone grave.

"Yes!"

Christine scampered through the doorway; Mamma soon heard the front door slam. Her gaze lingered to the waning man in her guest bed and a ghastly thought suddenly entered her mind: Christine was…!

"Christine—oh, that poor, _darling_ child! She will be all alone in this world, thousands of miles away from her birthplace…" Mamma Valerius lamented, she too knowing the pain of being alone. However, she had known a happy life prior to her husband's death—this angelic girl knew nothing but her father, and music.

…

"_Music_! Yes, if Christine must lose her dear papa, she can still live vicariously through her music. I must send for the National Academy right away!" She proclaimed, her face brimming with excitement. All of a sudden, Gustave coughed violently.

"Mamma… it is a wonderful g—gesture for you to consider my daughter—but the academy will… never accept a p—poor Swedish girl like Christine…"

"Oh, Gustave," she whispered, feeling despair once again.

"There is—only one thing you can do, Mamma… the… Paris Opera House, send her—there…" His voice trailed off as he gasped for breath a few times. "T—They can train her… and someday…" Gustave could not continue, as he once again was struggling to catch his breath. The old widow lowered her head for a moment.

"Yes, Gustave. I will send for someone right away, to come for Christine," she announced in a low whisper.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Christine returned with Doctor Fontenelle. The two came hurrying through the doorway, especially little Christine. 

"Mamma Valerius! I have returned with the doctor, just as you desired!" she shouted, slightly out of breath from her alacrity. Meanwhile, Doctor Fontenelle had already assumed his place at Gustave's bedside. He performed a routine check of the fading man's vital signs, his expression growing more somber with each passing minute. Finally, after the examination was complete, he leaned close to the bed.

"Sir, not to state the obvious, but your lungs are failing. You do not have much longer—maybe only 24 hours."

Gustave opened his tired eyes and gave the doctor an achingly long stare. With a gentle sigh, he closed his eyes once more.

"…Thank you, Doctor."

Now, the doctor nodded in reply. After a moment of lingering, he rose from the bedside and pulled Mamma Valerius aside.

"This man is dying," he announced in a whisper. "He doesn't have much longer to live, I would say one day at the most."

Mamma Valerius' face showed no shock or surprise—only grief for the terrified child waiting in the parlor. Doctor Fontenelle sighed now, too.

"What about the girl, his daughter?" he asked gently. Mamma nodded.

"She is going to the Paris Opera House, to train as a vocalist. I just sent a pageboy with the letter regarding the situation. It should only be a few days until they arrive."

"Well that's a relief, at least she won't become a homeless wretch," he replied thoughtfully.

Mamma and Fontenelle, both engrossed in their worries, were suddenly startled by a soft cry from Gustave.

"Please… let me see my Christine…"

The two exited the room, and sent Christine in to visit with her dear father. In the midst of all this confusion, Christine had no idea of her father's condition. Her naïve young mind was incapable of grasping the fact that her most important person was going to be departing soon. The perplexed little girl climbed upon the bed, next to her father, and watched him intently.

"Christine, my only daughter… my _beloved_ daughter… I shall make you a promise," he stammered, having trouble articulating his words. Her eyes perked up at his declaration. "When I am in heaven, child… I will send you… the angel of music… to protect you… guide you… teach you…"

"Oh, Father!" Christine wailed, wrapping her arms around his frail neck. "I will wait for my angel of music, _I promise!_" The small child began weeping inconsolably, unable to understand the wrenching in her heart. And though Christine did not notice, her father was weeping, too.

* * *

Ten hours later, Doctor Fontenelle exited the Valerius residence. Gustave Daaé passed away on May 23, 1861 at 8:41am. Thankfully, little Christine was sleeping at the time. But Mamma Valerius was well aware that when Christine awoke, an entirely new world of pain and anguish was waiting to descend. 

Pain and anguish barely _began_ to describe what Christine Daaé suffered.

The small girl rose from Mamma Valerius' bed, anxious to see her father, to check on his condition. Before she could make it to the guest room, Mamma stopped her and placed a hand on her trembling shoulder. Christine looked into Mamma's eyes and with one slim glance, the weight of the world came crashing down.

"Christine, dear child—"

"Stop, please…" she begged weakly, bowing her head so that her face could not be seen.

"Oh, but Christine—"

"Father is dead."

The iciness of little Christine's voice sent a chill running through Mamma Valerius. Christine pulled away from her gentle grip, silently traversing to her father's bedside. Or rather now, his deathbed. Again, Mamma was flabbergasted. Who was the detached little girl who roamed her home? One thing was for certain, it was no longer the dear, little songbird...

Mamma Valerius soon understood when she heard the most _superhuman_ cries of grief coming from the guest bedroom. The sheer pain in those cries told stories—_so many memories_ of loving adoration, childish innocence, and other heartbreaking reminiscences! It was nearly too much for Mamma to handle; her eyes brimmed with tears and she forced herself to withhold sobs. She could not bear to ask Christine to stop—it would only be causing the lost little child more pain!

The excruciating sobs continued for what felt like an eternity…

* * *

Gustave Daaé's funeral was hardly a flashy occasion. Christine, Mamma Valerius and Doctor Fontenelle were the only people who attended. After all, it was difficult for a traveling musician to acquire anything more than loose acquaintances. Due to their lack of funds, Gustave was buried in a coarse pine box with a simple headstone that read: 

_GUSTAVE DAAE_

_Wife: Lis Daughter: Christine_

_Born: 1801 Died: 1861_

Two days later, the little Christine had exhausted her tears. She could no longer bring herself to cry for her father; however, that would not stop her from grieving. All she could do now was grieve. All she had left of her father, now, was her grief…

By now, Mamma Valerius was concerned about Christine's fate. It had been three days since she had sent her request to the Paris Opera House, and she had received no response. Despite how much she loved the girl, she could not manage a daughter, even if it was not her own! Surely, if the Opera House does not come, Christine could find a home in a neighboring village. Yes, with two loving parents who would adore the beautiful, talented little songbird…

Suddenly, as if an intervention from the Heavens, there was a knock on the door! Mamma Valerius hurried to receive her caller. She opened the door to behold a middle-aged woman, clad in a formal black dress; her long, gray hair was braided and placed quaintly in front of her left shoulder. Her face, although weathered with experience, was soft and womanly, and Mamma could tell she was a kind person.

"Hello, Giselle Valerius?" the woman inquired. Mamma nodded. "Hello, I am Francine Giry, the ballet mistress at the Paris Opera House. Our manager, Monsieur Le Fevre, received your request and by means of approval of our musical instructor, Miss Christine Daaé is welcome to join the company at the Opera House."

All that Mamma Valerius could feel was relief. Relief that Christine would not have to fend for herself—relief that she could continue her music and find happiness as she once did at her father's side! She smiled softly at Madame Giry.

"Thank you so very much, Madame! I will fetch Christine at once," she announced, hurrying to the guest bedroom. Christine had tombed herself inside, refusing to come out except for meals, the restroom and the like. Mamma Valerius beat on the door like a madwoman.

"Christine! Christine, come out at once! We have a visitor who wishes to see you!"

The fatigued young child slowly opened the door, reluctantly coming out into the hallway. Mamma Valerius excitedly took her hand and led her to the parlor, where Mme. Giry was patiently waiting. Noticing the two, she bowed slightly.

"Hello, Christine," she said in a resonant, comforting tone. Christine, however, looked to Mamma Valerius with a puzzled expression.

"Christine, dear, this is Madame Giry. She is the ballet mistress at the Paris Opera House. You will be going with her to take vocal lessons, and perhaps even become an opera singer someday. Now you can continue your music!"

"Madame," Christine said impassively to the ballet mistress, "when shall we be leaving?"

"As soon as you are ready, my dear," Mme. Giry replied. Christine stared at Mme. Giry for quite a while, and then spared to glance to Mamma Valerius. Although this place was still new to her, it already held numerous memories—many of which brought nothing but pain. Hurt. Anguish. Longing. Christine knew that, regardless of how much she cared for Mamma Valerius, she could not remain in her house. Not where her father…

"I am ready, Madame Giry," Christine announced, with no reluctance in her voice. To the older ladies' surprise, she walked toward the door and managed a faint smile. Mme. Giry nodded to Mamma Valerius, whom also nodded in response.

"So long, Christine. Please do come and visit me when you have a chance, my dear," Mamma said, her voice concealing a certain sadness. The little Christine turned to take one last look at the closest thing to a mother she had ever known.

"Of course I will, Mamma."

With those words, Christine took Mme. Giry's hands and the two departed from the Valerius household. A small carriage was waiting at the end of the walkway. Long before they reached it, though, Christine stopped. She appeared to be deeply in thought for a moment, but soon trailed along behind Mme. Giry. All the while, though, she could not dismiss the thought from her head—

"_Are you my angel of music?"_


	2. The greatest prima donna in the world!

_**The Soprano's Love Story**_

**Disclaimer**: The Phantom of the Opera and related materials used in this work are property of Gaston Leroux, Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber, and so forth. I claim nothing in this story beyond my own tale-weaving style. :)

**A/N**: Huzzah, another chapter in only twenty-four hours. This chapter is far less angsty than its predecessor, in my humble opinion at least. Christine, at this point, is quite introverted and may not seem entirely in-character, but she is still reeling from the loss of her father. To be honest, I had a bit of fun writing for Little Meg! She's such a scamp. Plus O.G. is always fun to elaborate upon, too. You can tell I'm setting up for something big, so never fear, my Erik phangirls. He will make his grand entrance soon enough :) Still in search of a beta, mind you!Please R&R, and thank you.

* * *

**Movement 2** _The greatest prima donna in all the world!_

Christine was simultaneously amazed and appalled by the Paris Opera House and its players. Mme. Giry had taken special care to show her all of the players—the chorus girls, the dancing girls, the orchestra members, the stagehands, the opera singers, and so forth. Although many of them were kind and gentle people, for the majority they were selfish, or depraved, or idle—_or just detestable!_

The management, on the other hand, seemed tolerable. M. Le Fevre, the manager of the Opera, was a pleasant and forthright man. Unlike many, he enjoyed a good practical joke from time to time. He took particular care to keep the Opera running smoothly. As smoothly as possible, anyway. Monsieur Reyer, the chorus master and orchestral conductor, was an uptight man who never strayed from his schedule. Yes, he was quite strict in the way he ran things, but that strictness came only from his love for music and theatre.

Christine's first meeting and initial audition with M. Reyer was, to say the very least, a disaster.

Mme. Giry, after getting her acquainted with the innermost workings of the Opera House, took Christine to M. Reyer's office for her interview (of sorts). She knocked softly on the rough wooden door.

"Monsieur Reyer, Christine Daaé is here to see you," she announced in a direct tone.

"Please come in," sounded the bouncy reply. Christine looked sheepishly at Mme. Giry, hesitant to even move. The old ballet mistress smiled reassuringly at the little girl, taking her hand and leading her into the office. M. Reyer rose from his seat, bowing politely.

"Hello Madame, hello Mademoiselle Daaé," he said courteously. "I am Monsieur Reyer, the chorus master and orchestral conductor here at the Paris Opera House. Mademoiselle Daaé, from the letter we received, you were praised as having a wonderful vocal talent. Please, if you would, sing something for us!"

Christine was wholly dismayed. She hadn't sung a note since her father collapsed that day on the side of the dirt road. Come to think of it, she had never _once_ sung a note unless it was at her father's side! Could she even sing now, when he was… _gone_? On top of that, she was hardly accustomed to singing without accompaniment! Her petite body began to quiver with nervousness. With a deep breath, she opened her mouth to begin a Swedish folk song that her father had especially loved. However, the sound that came from Christine was pitiable! Nothing more than muddled words, missed chords and a shrinking voice…

M. Reyer raised a hand, signaling the trembling little girl to stop.

"Mademoiselle Daaé, I am very sorry but with that performance you could _hardly_ make it as a chorus girl. I understand that your father is deceased, and you are in a frightening new place—but I simply cannot allow you to join our chorus at present," M. Reyer decreed as delicately a possible. Little Christine felt sick to her stomach. _But it really wasn't her fault! _She could not concentrate—the only thought she could manage was of her father, merrily playing the violin, while she harmonized at his side…

"Come along Christine," Mme. Giry announced, breaking the uncomfortable silence. The ballet mistress led the miserable young girl from the office and down the hallway towards the dormitories. Before they entered, Mme. Giry came to a halt.

"I understand that you were nervous and it is all right, my dear. You can always try again, after you have grown familiar with your new home. Until that time, you are welcome to train to become one of our dancers. Looking at your physique, I can tell you would do marvelously, and I would see to it that you were well-taught." Christine was bowled over by Mme.'s gracious offer.

"Madame Giry, oh, I could never—"

"Nonsense! I simply will not take no for an answer. Now come along, I will show you the dormitories where you will be staying," she announced with a sense of finality. Christine passively followed behind.

* * *

The dormitories were another sight to behold for the ingenuous mind of Christine Daaé. She had never seen so many beds in one place! Clothes, books, and strange empty bottles were strewn about the rooms, and the surrounding area positively _reeked_ of perfumed oils. 

Mme. Giry motioned to a wooden bed in the utmost right corner of the room and said, "That one will be _your_ bed."

Christine stared at the mundane little bed for a moment, and then panned the surrounding beds as well.

Meanwhile, Mme. Giry observed her curious actions. _Curious_ could barely describe this little Christine Daaé! True she was only seven years old, but she was one of the most observant children she had ever known; Mme. understood the cause, though. Mamma Valerius' letter had divulged an excess of information regarding Christine and her father, Gustave; everything from Christine's mother's death to her "career" as a traveling musician to her father's tragic passing only a few days prior. Mme. Giry, also being a widow, sympathized with Mamma Valerius and most especially Christine. Loneliness was a menace hardly willing to be extinguished…

"Maman!"

The woman's reverie was interrupted by a puckish cry. A small blonde girl scampered into the room, obviously winded from running.

"Maman! Is it _true_ that there is a new girl in the Opera _the same age as me_—oh…" the elfin girl apparently answered her own question as she noticed the brunette standing a few feet shy of her mother.

"Meg Giry! How rude of you to barge in so raucously!" Mme. Giry scolded the excited child. Christine peeped at this interesting little Meg Giry, her face full of questions. "Christine, this is my daughter, Meg. Please excuse her discourtesy, she is still one year your junior."

Little Meg smiled blithely at her prospective new playmate.

"Hello! I am very pleased to meet you," Meg chimed with a polite bow, attempting to correct her earlier impoliteness. Christine stared dumbly at the girl for a moment; however, she could not resist a smile.

* * *

Christine Daaé and Meg Giry became fast friends; it was only natural for the two youngest members of the Paris Opera House to share something of an "unsaid connection". After Mme. Giry excused herself to tend to ballet practice, the two girls set off together for some amusement. They roamed backstage while the rest of the Opera was rehearsing the latest production of Gounod's _Faust_; although it was new to the repertoire, it was quickly becoming a favorite of the regulars. 

Meg and Christine peeped at the muddled production from behind the large velvet curtain. The props were obviously quite new, the paint was still glossy and it glittered under the great lighting; the dancers were prancing about, lithely moving their graceful forms in delicate patterns to reflect the ethereal mood of the music; the chorus girls were standing in a half-circle, their profile view showing to the seats as they donned make-shift cherub wings; the lead vocalist—or rather the prima donna was standing in the near center of the stage, traversing the range of the aria quite beautifully. Oh, Christine was _overwhelmed_ with emotion at the sight of this prima donna! She looked so like an angel…

But a harsh thought jarred Christine from her trance; when Christine had met this woman before, she was nothing but a vile witch who delighted in yelling at those who surrounded her! Yes, Sofia Roma Natalia, a _pretentiously_ Italian woman, was a horrendously wicked person. In spite of that, _she could _seem so otherworldly whilst singing on-stage? The thought was enough to overload Christine's budding mind.

"Oh, do come along, this is a dreadfully boring part of _Faust_. Sofia is a wicked old hag—oh, how rude of me, what Maman would say if she heard!" Meg chided herself in place of her mother. Such self-punishment elicited a soft chuckle from Christine.

"All right then," was her kindly reply. The small pair turned and began heading from whence they came until a tattered old piece of rope fell at their feet. Christine simply stared at the device—Meg, however, entered into hysterics!

"_Christine!_ The Opera Ghost is up to his tricks!"

"Opera… Ghost?"

"Yes, oh yes, _the Opera Ghost!_ He is the gloom that stalks inside this Opera House! He _thrives_ on the darkness, _traverses_ through the shadows, and causes _ghastly misfortunes _to those who cross him! Oh, but do not misunderstand, please! Monsieur L'Opera Ghost—my maman addresses him so—can also be a gentle spectre! If he takes kindly to you, he will leave little gifts or even _money_! He can be in several places at the same time, too! Oh Christine, I am certainly glad to tell you of Monsieur L'Opera Ghost, because he causes _such excitement_ here!" And Little Meg Giry stumbled on, revealing several more stories of the fabled Opera Ghost. These outrageous yarns intrigued and mystified one Christine Daaé. Being brought up a good, Catholic girl, she was quite superstitious—and it seemed she was not alone!

"H—Has anyone ever _seen_ Monsieur L'Opera Ghost?" Christine managed tremblingly.

"Oh, that is a _deeper_ mystery, in fact! Several members of the theatre company claim to have beheld him, yet there are many different descriptions of his person! Some say he has a head of fire, fire sprouting from the deepest pits of hell—while others say he has a Death's head, like a skull or a _corpse _even!"

"Goodness me," Christine exhaled in a whisper. "What a place to haunt, this Opera House! …Does anyone know _why_ he haunts this theatre?"

"I do not think anyone truly cares why! You are the first person to ever ask, that I know of anyhow. It is an especially good question, though…" Meg Giry's voice trailed into the echoing space.

* * *

Later that evening, the in darkness of nighttime, Christine lay awake in her ordinary wooden bed. The events of the previous day were heavy on her mind. She was soon to be a dancing girl—thanks to her jumbled singing for M. Reyer. It was not that she was ashamed or anything of that nature; she had just not expected that outcome. However, she had hardly expected to her father to… 

Her little mind raced desperately, attempting to change the subject. Oh, M. L'Opera Ghost! Meg Giry had divulged so much information about the puzzling spirit that Christine could almost say that she _wanted_ to meet him! Meg had observed that he made things interesting inside the Opera House. Christine pondered the statement thoroughly. Meg was bored by the Opera House? It seemed implausible to little Christine, considering there were so many people and so much dynamism—she had observed so very much in her one day as a resident!

Her thoughts regressed, though; would her father be proud of her current situation? Living in the Paris Opera House—not as an ethereal prima donna but as a _dancing girl_. Dreadful. It made her feel dreadful, from head to toe!

"Father, you promised you would send me an angel of music, and I promised in return that I would wait… and do not fret, for I _shall_ wait! Oh I _do_ wish you would hurry, Father. I know it has only been four days—I would wait until I become an old woman!—but my own angel would ease my despair. I will make you another promise Father, a wonderful promise! When you send my angel of music, I shall become the greatest prima donna in all the world. I can give you that much, my dearest Father."

Christine opened her eyes for a brief moment; then she gently closed them once again, said a brief prayer for her father's departed soul, and drifted into a calm slumber. It was the most tranquil sleep she had managed to have since the night before her father collapsed.


	3. As you wish, little songbird

**_The Soprano's Love Story_**

**Disclaimer**: The Phantom of the Opera and related materials used in this work are property of Gaston Leroux, Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber, and so forth. I claim nothing in this story beyond my own tale-weaving style. :)

**A/N**: First and foremost, I would like to thank Sweet-Intoxication, Masqueraders, and AngelOfMusic387 for your kind reviews :) You guys have really fueled my creative juices, believe it or not. As for this chapter, I'm not positive that I'm 100 pleased with it, so I will be counting on feedback from you guys! **I am increasingly in need of a beta; please email me if you are interested, or know someone else who may be interested.** Anyhow, back to the chapter! Everyone's favorite O.G. makes his presence known in this chapter, however, he will not make his actual appearance for a little while longer. On to the chapter!

* * *

**Movement 3 **_As you wish, little songbird._

Mme. Giry was correct in her assumption; Christine would shape up to be quite a dancer, indeed. Although she had only worked on the basics—the five principal ballet positions to be specific—Mme. Giry could easily see an inborn grace in the little Swedish girl's movement.

"Yes dear, Second Position is much like First Position, but the feet are placed one foot and a half distance apart from each other. Of course, the weight is placed evenly on each foot. Your arms should be open, rounded, and in front of the shoulders." The strict ballet mistress observed her newest student while she attempted the position. "Very good, just bring your arms down a tad lower." Christine quickly complied with the request. "Perfect."

The two met for lessons every other day, immediately following daily rehearsal. Christine was not an "official" member of the ballet company; she would have to be approved by M. Fevre, hence why she was being instructed so thoroughly. Most of the girls of the ballet company had been dancing since they were very small—yes, Christine was small as well, but these girls still had more experience under their belts. It was naturally intimidating to a seven-year-old novice!

Christine was thankful to have befriended Meg Giry. Not only did Meg provide company and laughter when she was feeling gloomy, she _too_ was a dancer! If Christine was ever curious regarding some foreign aspect of dancing, Meg was always right there to answer her question. Thanks to the Giry family, Christine was quickly becoming something worthy of the Opera House.

"Oh Meg, what can I say! I never expected to learn so much. The only dancing I've ever done is the waltz!" Christine exclaimed. She had just completed her lesson for the day, and the two companions were strolling down the hallway to the dormitories.

"Don't worry, you are doing splendidly! I know for a fact that Maman is very pleased with your progress. You're just being a worrywart!" Meg replied jovially, placing a petite hand on her friend's shoulder. Christine smiled in reply. "Come, it's almost time to retire!"

"Yes, I wil—" Christine suddenly stopped in her tracks, obviously struck by a forgotten notion. "I will come to bed soon, Meg. I need to visit my father beforehand."

Meg nodded softly. "Of course."

The little Christine hurried down the cellar stairs, down to the small Opera House chapel. It was one of the more forgotten haunts of the Opera House—unless a devoted member of the theatre company lost a loved one, which was rare in itself. Many of those who came to the Opera House were in a similar situation to Christine; the difference was that they cared naught.

She approached a rounded ceramic apparatus, complete with a candle protruding from the bottom. Her father's name, Gustave Daaé, was engraved upon the little memorial. Christine delicately stroked the smooth, cold surface; she found it to be strangely comforting. She used a match to light her father's candle, and bowed her head in silent prayer of her father's soul.

"Father," she began upon finishing her prayer, "do you remember my promise? Well, it has been a long time since I have used my voice. If I truly desire to become a prima donna, I must first become a member of the chorus. I am sure that it will be difficult, Father. However, I believe that you will bless me with an angel to ease the hardship." Christine prepared to rise—however, she suddenly had an idea that would perhaps bring her an angel sooner. Yes, it would surely do so…

The little Swedish girl began to sing. At first it was quiet and riddled with timidity, but her tone soon filled out and reverberated nicely against the masonry. Oh, how she wished she could've sang like this for M. Reyer! Her tune quickly came to an end, as she did not desire to be heard by those in the Opera. Only by her beloved father.

Christine Daaé retired to the dormitories, soon drifting into a light sleep.

* * *

Several hours later, Christine was roused by a faint sound. The small girl sat upright in her bed, surveying the surrounding area; it appeared as though no one else could hear the disturbance. Christine quietly climbed from her bed, her bare feet meeting the cold floor; she shivered for only a moment. Then she began to follow what she believed was the origin of her mysterious sound. Her feet seemed to move of their own accord. She stopped, only for a moment, and listened to the wraithlike hum. 

"It… sounds as if it was—_down in the chapel!_"

Christine's heart was fluttering. If it was in the chapel, then—then maybe—yes! _It had to be her angel of music!_ The frenzied girl scurried down the cellar steps once again. The sound was indeed coming from the chapel, as it grew louder when she entered the chapel.

"O angel of music! Please deliver my song!" she cried to the heavens, lifting her arms in an open embrace. The haunting music continued to drift through the stone room and showed little signs of stopping. Christine recognized the melody as "The Resurrection of Lazarus," a piece that was particularly fond to her father. The dulcet tones of the unnamed violin sent her mind spiraling back in time, to the time when she was in Sweden with her father,when thetwo of them began traveling the countryside. Oh how _fondly_ she remembered it! They would sleep atop the haystacks; Christine had never slept so soundly as then! Her father would tell her stories that he learned when he was a boy of her age. She would plead for more stories... More, more, more… please Father…

Her tired arms dropped from the open air as she was close to tears. There was only the violin, no cherub to deliver her voice to greatness. She had been a pretty little fool to believe her angel would come so quickly! Yet still, what of this beautiful music…

Christine knelt and pressed her ear to the cold stone floor.

"It is… coming from underneath?" She was positively baffled. "Perhaps I am dreaming? But I have never asked Meg what lies beneath this Opera House… How bizarre."

Her head full of questions, Christine returned to her little bed in the dormitories. Even there, the lilting sound of the violin permeated her ears. She soon found herself dozing to "The Resurrection of Lazarus."

* * *

The next day, after lunch, Christine pulled Meg aside. 

"Meg, I must speak to you regarding a strange series of events last night," Christine announced in a whisper.

"Oh, what happened?" Meg replied, her voice itching with curiosity.

"I was having trouble sleeping when I heard a strange noise. I rose from bed and followed the sound—which I discovered to be a violin of all things! I pursued the sound all the way down into the cellar, and further down into the chapel. I'm positive the violin was coming from _under the Opera House!_"

"How positively ghastly!" Meg squealed, obviously excited. "Perhaps it was Monsieur L'Opera Ghost!"

"Yes… but has anyone else ever heard a violin coming from under the floor?" Christine questioned, quick to disprove that M. L'Opera Ghost was behind such a beautiful song.

"I do not think so—but how _else_ could you explain it?"

"Oh, I don't know…" Christine sighed gently. She still wanted to believe that the origin was an angel, perhaps not _her_ angel but another angel who shared in her grief.

Christine returned to the dormitories to fetch a hair ribbon for Meg, who was preparing for rehearsal. Rummaging through her things, she smiled victoriously as she found a ribbon. With a sigh she glanced at her little bed, turning to deliver the ribbon; Christine quickly spun around once more, her eyes wide with disbelief. Idly resting on her bed was a small box.

"What in the world…"

She sat on her mattress, fingering the lovely velvet lining on the mysterious package. The box itself was quite lovely; it was oblong, lined with beautiful crimson velvet on the outside, and tied with a soft white ribbon. Christine admired the package for a moment longer and then timidly pulled the ribbon loose. As she gently tugged the lid from the package, her eyes were met with a great surprise. _Chocolates_. They looked to me fine Parisian chocolates! Little Christine was flabbergasted. Surely she had done nothing to deserve such a lavish gift—and such a lavish gift _from whom_?

She carefully tied the soft white ribbon in her hair, tossing her tattered black one aside.

* * *

Once again, Christine relayed her strange experience to the curious little Meg Giry. Meg, too, was astounded. 

"How _delightful!_ M. L'Opera Ghost has taken a fancy to you, Christine!" the little scamp exclaimed, laughing merrily. Christine, however, took no merriment from her jesting; her gaze hardened noticeably.

"I… doubt that a ghost would take the time to leave me fine chocolates, Meg," she replied in a whisper. Little Meg Giry frowned.

"Ah, Christine, I am sorry! I did not mean to upset you! Don't fret, I'm sure it is from an admirer in the Opera House. Many of the young members of the orchestra have taken a liking to you, you know!"

Christine blushed a deep pink. "Meg, don't be silly!"

"Oh but _indeed_ I am not," she replied, a grin forming upon the corners of her mouth. Now, the two friends laughed heartily together.

* * *

Christine continued her routine visits to her father's cenotaph every evening before bed. With each passing day brought another visit—and also another mysterious gift from her mystery benefactor. Sometimes, the little trinkets would be strewn across her bed; other times they would be patiently waiting her arrival in the chapel. That was not the strangest thing, though! Each gift was more ostentatious than the last. In the beginning, she only received her box of chocolates. Later, she found a quaint little parcel of hair ribbons made in every color imaginable. Then, there came an assortment of flowers—carnations, lilies, gardenias, hydrangeas, sunflowers, orchids, tulips, lilacs and even _roses_! Eventually, jewelry was waiting Christine Daaé: Her personal patron began leaving her fine necklaces, bracelets and a few rings, even. Then, her mysterious flatterer became so bold as to offer _frocks_! With wonderful new each gift, another piece of the puzzle was thrown into the fray. 

After many days of being showered with trinkets, Christine decided to take a stand regarding her strange new offerings. One morning before breakfast, she rushed down to the chapel, leaving a small note behind upon her father's cenotaph. It certainly amused her benefactor—amused being _quite_ the understatement!

_To My Benefactor:_

_I cannot begin to express enough gratitude for the gifts you have showered upon me; however, I also cannot understand what I have done to deserve such lavish treatment! I am but a poor dancing girl—in reality, I am still not an official dancing girl!—and I have nothing to offer you in return, kind sir or madam. To ease my conscience, I humbly request that you cease indulging my fancy, for I already feel I owe you a great deal! Thank you again for your dogged kindness. I will always hold a place for you in my prayers._

_Mlle. Christine Daaé_

That evening, when Christine returned to the chapel, she was met with a tiny wooden box.

"Oh goodness me," she groaned dolefully, "apparently they are quite stubborn!" The small girl knelt to examine the curious little box, noticing it to be constructed of a solid, glossy oak. Christine inwardly rolled her eyes at this person's penchant for expensive belongings. Carefully, Christine opened the main compartment of the little box and found it to be a _music box_ of all things! It also was equipped with a small mirror, and the initials "C.D." were emblazoned in the top right-hand corner. The compartment itself was lined with the same fine velvet that delimited her first gift. Sitting quietly in the center of the music box there was a note.

_Mlle. Daaé:_

_As you wish, little songbird._

_E_

Christine stared at the curious piece of stationery, noting the juvenile penmanship and the bright red ink.

"E… How peculiar."


	4. Status Update !

Update on 12/19/2005:

My dearest readers,

First and foremost, I'm sorry that this isn't another chapter to my story! It's been a long while since I've worked on this title, but I haven't forgotten about it. I feel guilty for leaving it unfinished and just sitting on the shelf, more or less.

This story will be scrapped, most likely. At least, this version of this story. Although I love what I've written so far, I can't pick it up from where I stopped.

I am beginning work on a new Phanfic, about a completely different subject. I'm not yet ready to tackle rewriting "Phantom", despite how determined I was to do so! So please be on the look out for my new title, debuting soon.

I especially want to say thank you to those of you who reviewed and offered your help. Your presence was very much so appreciated and I will not forget you next time around. :)

Please take some time to check out Not an Angel, Just Erik by AngelofMusic387. I am the beta for her story and although I'm not a fan of E/OC, I love her writing! So if you have some time, please give her a review and whatnot.

Thanks again everyone! Be seeing you soon!

- MouseyNezu


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